All My Things
by M. D. Jensen
Summary: The story behind the items in Zack's box.


Disclaimer: not mine.

_All My Things_

_a trophy_

She'd had it made up for him; nothing big, twenty bucks at a local shop where the clerk had wanted to know what sport "king of the lab" referred to. She'd smiled. The store had been full of sample trophies with tiny gold-tone figures playing basketball, baseball, cheerleading. There had been none with beakers or bones; she'd had to choose a generic cup. The trophy orders that were filed alongside hers, she knew, were all for young, rising athletes- stars in a society that valued physical skill and put people like Zack on the back burner.

She knew that he'd never had a trophy as a child. She wanted him to have something on his shelf. When she'd given it to him, Zack's face had split in a genuine grin and he'd hugged her on the spot, so tightly it ached. She should have known then that something that small shouldn't have made him that happy.

She'd said, "Don't wave it in Hodgin's face too much, Zackaroni."

(She hadn't said, "Remember that you're valued, too.")

* * *

_a book_

He'd found it at the local Barnes and Noble, half-hidden on a shelf at the back of the store. It hadn't been what he'd set out to buy, but he laughed to himself as he flipped through it and carried it to the cashier. After all, Zack had once said that he needed a manual, so there it was; step-by-step instructions, that was a reasonable enough request.

In truth he'd always felt bad blowing Zack off when he'd asked about sex and love and pleasure, but that didn't mean he didn't want to help. When he'd given it to him, Zack had blushed and stammered, but Hodgins had never doubted the prank-but-not really gift.

He'd said, "Now you can finally quit asking me all this, man."

(He hadn't said, "I know you'll find someone someday.")

* * *

_a harmonica_

It'd felt like he should do something, anything, for the kid that he was letting go off to war. He'd picked it up at the toy store and had them wrap it in an unassuming little box, nice and pleasant looking. The kids in the store around him had screamed and pouted and run, and he'd felt in his gut that Zack had more in common emotionally with them than he did with him. It was time for that to change.

He'd ignored his inner protests that this wasn't the way to handle it with Zack, that instead of sending him off with best wishes, he should have been pulling him back. When he'd given it to him, Zack had closed his eyes and inhaled slowly before smiling and shaking his hand.

He'd said, "Watch your ass, kid."

(He hadn't said, "It hurts more than you can imagine, so be ready.")

* * *

_a drawing_

She'd drawn it for him on a paper placemat while they waited for breakfast at the diner one morning. It was just a sketch but she'd thrown her full concentration into it, glancing up at him every few seconds while he looked on, bemused. She'd made him like one of the characters in the comic books he loved so much; happy, strong- holding a table aloft with ease. She'd given him a smile, a crown, and a microscope in the background, a symbol of his personal superpower.

She'd made him, in a strange way, beautiful. When she'd given it to him, Zack had tossed his head and held the caricature up next to his face, smiling and preening as best as he could.

She'd said, "There you go, Z-man."

(She hadn't said, "You've already proven yourself a hundred times over.")

* * *

_a letter_

It had seemed an appropriate courtesy to inform him in a personal note rather than a form letter; she had, in fact, poured over hundreds of applications and interview notes before she finished with only his resume left in her hands. She'd typed it up rather quickly, and when it had begun to sound too generic, she'd added a slight personal note before printing it, signing it, and posting it to Michigan. She hadn't thought of it as much of anything, hadn't considered how exciting an opportunity it was for the applicant she'd chosen.

She'd had no way of knowing what it meant to him. But when Zack had opened it, he'd stared at the print until his eyes watered, then sprinted off to pack his bags.

She'd said, "I know you'll find a home here, Mr. Addy."

(She hadn't said, "You'll also find a family.")


End file.
